Free Rebel Skyforce (Mad Tinker Chronicles) by J.S. Morin

her pistol grip. The crowds were too thick for her liking, the costumes garish and bewildering to the eye. News of her trek across northern Khesh could not have gone without rumors arriving well before the wagons. If anyone had intentions of ambushing them for their cargo, the crowd could conceal any number of assailants among the revelers.
    Dan plunked himself down beside Madlin. “None of the serpents are real, you know. I don’t think you’re going to need the gun.”
    “If this were Korr, and this was someone else’s money, I’d be looking for a way to boost it,” she replied.
    “Maybe, but it’s crated up. It’s not like someone is going to cut your purse strings and sneak off with it. Besides, half this lot’s already drunk and the rest are trying to catch up.” Dan extended a handful of sweets in a tiny wicker basket. “Here, try one. They’re pretty good.”
    Madlin leaned away from the basket. “Do you know what those are?”
    “Fella hawking ‘em said they were sweethearts.”
    Madlin gave him a sickly smile. “Yeah, fried chicken hearts glazed in sugar.” She watched for Dan’s reaction, but he kept chewing as if he hadn’t heard her.
    “Funny, you’d think they’d have given them a cleverer name.” Dan popped another into his mouth. “Really, you can hardly even taste the meat inside. They could have sugared black beans or peas or something and you’d never tell the difference. There some special Serpent Day thing about chickens I don’t know about?”
    “Can you maybe not eat those right in front of me?” Madlin asked. Her stomach was turning sour with the squishy noises of Dan chewing as he talked.
    “What, are you squeamish?” Dan asked. He opened his mouth wide, showing half-eaten sweethearts within. Madlin cringed away from both the sight and smell. Dan laughed. “That’s what you get trying to make me sick telling me what they are when I’ve got them in my mouth. You don’t get to be warlock by tossing your lunch over every little thing, but I know that trick. I invented that trick.”
    Madlin watched a troupe of actors putting on a makeshift performance for an audience within elbow’s reach. Three of them were dressed as fishermen, and a fourth wore an elaborate serpent costume with scales of oxidized copper. “You don’t strike me as the inventing type. I bet you’d find tinkering pretty boring.”
    “You said it, not me. I’ve got nothing against you tinkers, but I just don’t need machines to do my work for me. It’s fine for people who can’t do magic worth horse snot, like Tanner.”
    “Tell me, Dan, what do they do when people get sick in Veydrus?”
    There was an elaborate sigh from above Madlin, and a basket of sweethearts showered her. “Piss off, Madlin. How many times are you going to try to thief-talk me into giving you magic lessons? Lather up any more jelly on my bread and I’ll rot my teeth.”
    “It’s a fair question!” Madlin protested, flicking the foul treats off the wagon and into the crowd.
    Dan grabbed hold of one of the supports for the wagon’s canvass covering and swung around into Madlin’s field of vision. “Fine then. For a sniffle, we drink dragon piss. For fever, we lie naked under a full moon. If someone breaks a bone, we take them to the smithy and alloy the bone with iron, then weld it back together. Festering wounds must be bathed in virgin blood. Should anyone show signs of hysterical madness, we treat them with land and title.”
    Madlin listened to the tirade with her lips pursed. “How’s the virgin blood thing work?”
    Dan’s face grew solemn. “You’re serious about this one, aren’t you?”
    “If I can’t find a way to cure septic rot, they’re going to cut my foot off.”
    “Make sure they’ve got hot tar on hand to seal it,” Dan said. “I’ve watched it done after a battle. Nasty business. If it were me, I’d almost rather let the rot take me. Then again, it’s not me.”
    “What would you do